Seven Stages Of Grief
by Avoline Malfoy
Summary: Clint goes through the stages of grief after the loss of his one true friend. Rated M for language.
1. Shock

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_And another bunny trail crossed my path. Wouldn't that figure? So, I've decided since I've given you guys so many happy little stories, it's time for a tear-jerker._

_This story is based off of the idea that Natasha didn't survive the New York fiasco. Each chapter, seven in all, will chronicle Clint's journey through the seven stages of grief._

_Not much to talk about, so I'll let you get right to it. Sit back and enjoy!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

Clint stared at the floor, shaking his head. It couldn't be true. Selvig had to be lying. The man had lost his mind once the Tesseracts spell had worn off. He could tell that much. But he could not process what the scientist was saying.

"No," he muttered. "No, no, no, it can't be true. Selvig, she can't be dead." The older man squeezed the archer's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, son," he replied. "The blast was too powerful. She didn't stand a chance." The blond closed his eyes and took a shaky breath.

"She's not dead," he repeated. "She's fooling us. She found a way to survive. She always does."

"Clint," Tony called firmly. "Natasha's dead. There's no use in denying it." Clint shook his head one more time before putting it in his hands. This was Natasha Romanoff they were talking about. There was no way she was dead. She would always show up, very much alive, and give them all a piece of her mind for even thinking she was dead. More often than not, he would get the majority of her fury.

"Clint, listen to me," Tony continued. "When she hit the cube with the spear, it caused a blast. She was standing closest to it, and she got the brunt of the blast. She really didn't have a single chance of surviving." The grey-eyed man bit his lip to hold back the sobs, his mind wandering to when he first met her.

* * *

_He had an arrow trained on her, ready to fly. All he had to do was let it loose, and he could go home. His hands shook, though. If he followed his orders exactly, he would be no different than his father. He had to be different, and it would start with her._

_He put the arrow back in it's quiver and slid the bow across his torso. He still had an eye on her, even as he leapt from one rooftop to another to get to her. His lungs burned from the strain, but he refused to stop. Someone had to make this call and give her a chance._

_He landed on his feet, and looked up to find himself face to face with the barrel of a Glock .9._

_"What do you want," she demanded, her voice thick with a Russian accent. He raised his hands and slowly stood._

_"To make you an offer," he answered evenly. "You can make your choice later, just hear me out first." He watched her carefully, hoping that she wouldn't pull the trigger before he could speak to her._

_"Do you know who I am," she questioned warningly. He nodded._

_"You're Natasha Romanoff," he responded. "Trained by the Red Room for years, starting when you were very young. You have killed more men than anyone else alive, and you've been running for your life for a while now." She cocked her head at him, and he took the chance to continue. "I was sent to kill you, but I've decided on a different course of action. You've got a choice: you can kill me, and continue running, or you can stop now, join me, and lead a totally different life. A life where you don't have to be afraid anymore. Where, after doing whatever is asked of you, you can actually go home, wherever that maybe be, let your guard down, and not worry about anyone trying to kill you ever again. It's completely up to you, Natasha."_

_They stood, staring at each other, for what felt like hours. His eyes flickered from the gun to her face, then back again. If this was the day he died, at least he could die knowing that he tried to make a difference in someone's life. He was too late to save his brother, but he could at least save her._

_Finally, she lowered the gun, and he let out a breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding._

_"Take me away from here," she pleaded softly. "Show me what this other life is like."_


	2. Denial

_Disclaimer: I own nothing._

* * *

_Now that we've seen the first stage, who's ready for the next stage?_

_The memories are, of course, a figment of my imagination. I'm just making them up as I go. I probably won't say much after this chapter cause there really isn't much to say._

_Sit back and enjoy!_

_Love always,_

_Avoline_

* * *

Clint stared at the door, waiting for her to walk in. She wasn't dead, and he knew it. It had just been a really bad dream. She probably took off once the portal was closed and took a spur-of-the-moment weekend to herself. He knew she did that after every tough mission. She did it after dealing with Stark, and after Budapest.

He laughed at the memory. The last thing he remembered telling her directly was that they remembered that mission very differently, but he knew better. He remembered it so vividly, and how they had chose to unwind before she took off for her "me" time.

He grabbed his phone. Maybe she had messaged him and he didn't hear it. Or maybe she had called and he had left his phone on silent again. He grinned, remembering how many times she had bitched at him about leaving the damn thing on silent.

But there was nothing. No messages, no missed calls. Not a fucking thing to let him know anything. He sighed and put his phone back on the arm of the couch, his eyes returning to the door. Did she leave for good? Or was Selvig and Tony right?

No. She wasn't dead. She couldn't be. There was so much he needed to tell her. He wasn't ready to let her go. He would hunt her down. He's done it before.

He grabbed his boots and slid them on. He knew where he needed to go.

* * *

_He waited outside the hotel. He knew she was in there. He'd been watching the place for a few days now. All he wanted to do was make sure she was okay._

_"You're a stubborn one, Barton," a voice called, and he turned to see her walking towards him. He gave a sheepish grin, knowing he had been caught._

_"Just had to make sure," he replied. "Kind of a tough mission, even for me." She smiled and kept walking, and he pushed himself off the wall and followed her._

_"Maybe you should do what I do," she stated._

_"What, disappear for a few days," he questioned._

_"Yes," she responded. "It helps me clear my mind." She turned down an alley, and he didn't hesitate. She whipped around to face him. "I know this was tough. Your'e still shaking. But Clint, we had to do it. It won't get any easier, but I can promise that eventually you won't think twice." He sighed and looked away, his smile fading quickly._

_"Then how am I any different than my dad," he muttered. Her hand gripped his arm._

_"Because you know, deep inside, that it's not something you're doing just for the fuck of it," she explained. He stared at her from the corner of his eye._

_Then he grabbed her arm and pressed his lips against hers before she could blink._


End file.
